Mark of a Good Woman
by Black Raven of Doom
Summary: Harry falls for a fat chick.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and mean no disrespect to those who do.

Author's note: I'm sick of reading all these stories about Harry falling in love with someone perfectly beautiful, so I wrote this story. I hope you like it.

**The Mark of a Good Woman**

Professor Sprout announced a large project for the last three weeks of the term. "You will be growing Tunococ trees," she informed the sixth year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. "I've started these seedlings; you will be divided into pairs and you will be graded on how well your plant is thriving at the end of the term. Here are the pair assignments."

Harry was paired with a stout Hufflepuff girl he'd never spoken to before. She had short, curly brown hair and wore glasses; her face was round and she had very little chin to speak of. "Hi," she said, smiling pleasantly as she shook his hand. "I'm Mona Dowling. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Harry Potter," said Harry, pleased that she had allowed him to introduce himself. So many people, on meeting him, said, "I know who you are." In a strange way, it made Harry feel as though his identity was no longer his own, as though it were public domain. "Nice to meet you too, Mona." Her grip was firm, and he was surprised how small her hands were; her long nails helped to make them appear less stubby.

As their Tunococ tree flourished, so did their new friendship. Mona was a Muggleborn who loved Charms and Ancient Runes and hoped to get a job with the Wizarding Wireless Network on leaving Hogwarts. Harry was surprised to discover that he felt as comfortable talking to her as he did with Ron and Hermione.

On the last day of class they turned in their project. Madame Sprout inspected it thoroughly and said with a smile, "Nice job, you two."

Harry knew that Mona was going home for Christmas, and he wanted to spend a little more time with his new friend before she left. "Say Mona," he said, "this weekend's a Hogsmeade weekend…would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?"

"Sure!" she said. "That sounds like fun. I need to finish my Christmas shopping yet."

"Great!" said Harry. "I'll meet you in the Great Hall."

"It's a date," said Mona; then, waving good-bye, she turned and headed to her next class.

Harry was confused and a bit worried by what she said. Had she meant, "It's a date," as in "I'll put it in my datebook," or did she mean a _date_ date? Did she think it was going to be a _date_ date? Did she WANT it to be a _date_ date? Did HE want it to be a _date_ date?

Harry, perhaps making the first sensible decision of his life, decided not to worry about it and just look forward to spending time with his new friend.

"So," Harry asked on the morning in question, "where do you want to go?"

He had a brief spasm of the anxiety he had felt in response to Mona's "it's a date" comment. If, indeed, she considered it a _date_ date, he was afraid she might suggest Madam Puddifoot's, and he didn't think he could bear the excruciating memories of his first—and last—date with Cho.

"Let's go to the Three Broomsticks," suggested Mona, and so they did, Harry mentally breathing a sigh of relief.

Harry ordered a butterbeer and Mona a hot chocolate with whipped cream. They discussed their plans for the winter holidays, and Mona mentioned how much she was looking forward to watching movies with her family.

"I think that's the thing I miss most when I'm at Hogwarts," she said, "watching movies. I mean, Hogwarts is wonderful, but the movies have a magic all their own. Whenever I go home for holidays the first thing I do is watch a movie. It's a tradition."

"I can't remember the last movie I watched," said Harry, who was sure he'd never been to the cinema and was fairly certain he'd never seen a whole movie on TV before Dudley got bored and changed the channel.

"Well, perhaps you could visit me over the summer and we could watch some," she said. Then she blushed, as though she thought she'd crossed a line.

Harry smiled and said, "I'd like that." Then Harry dropped his eyes from Mona's gaze, hoping Mona didn't take that as a promise that he would come. He had to stay with the Dursleys—

Mona's elbow, which was resting on the table, caught Harry's eye. "Mona," he asked, "what's that on your arm?"

"Where?" she said, lifting her arm and examining her wrist.

"There, right above your elbow."

"Oh," she said, pulling up the sleeve of her pretty blue blouse and revealing her chubby upper arm whereHarry saw the redmarks that marred the white surface. They looked, perhaps, like claw marks from some huge animal; claw marks that had healed unevenly, leaving jagged red scars. Though he noticed that the marks seemed to change color based on the angle from which he saw them: purple, bright red, and a pale tone that almost blended in with her skin. "Those are just stretch marks," she said.

"Stretch marks?" said Harry. "But I thought—"

"You thought that stretch marks were something that only happened to pregnant women?" she asked, and he nodded. "I used to think that too. As it turns out, anyone can get them: men, women, fat people, skinny people. My brother has some across his knees and he's about that big around," she said, making her thumb and index finger into a circle.

"Couldn't you ask Madam Pomfrey to remove them?" asked Harry.

Mona looked surprised. "I suppose I could," she said. "I never thought of that. Eventually they'll pretty much go away; they'll turn white and you won't be able to see them anymore, unless you're looking really hard. To tell you the truth, I've gotten to the point where I kind of like them, and I'd miss them if they were gone. They're one of the things that set me apart, that make me…unique. If that makes sense."

When Mona got up to pay the bill Harry watched her, thinking about what she said. He was fascinated by the way that she celebrated what some might consider a blemish at best and a disfigurement at worst. Then he remembered that, as a child, the only thing he had liked about his appearance was his scar, even though Aunt Petunia said it was ugly and tried to hide it with his bangs. He realized that he had seen it as a symbol that he was distinct from the horrible Dursleys, the children at school who either teased or ignored him, and the teachers who had offered him no protection from the bullying of the others. They had seen the scar as a disfigurement, but he had seen it as a mark of honor.

As they left the Three Broomsticks, Harry took her hand. "I know what you mean now," he said. "About—about being unique. Set apart."

Mona glanced at his scar and smiled, then leaned her head on his shoulder. "I thought you'd understand."

* * *


End file.
